Par George Jonas le 16 février 2011
When I was 10, a rusty mastiff followed me home from the playground. It accepted a dish of liver from my mother, then curled up in front of my bed. Whenever my parents approached, it raised its massive head and growled.
I felt flattered. The dog had a collar but no tag. “Can I keep it?” I asked my father.
“If that were a real question,” my father replied, “my answer might be yes. But you and I know that what you’re actually asking is: Will you, dear parents, keep a dog for me? Feed it, walk it, groom it, muzzle it? And the answer to that is no.”
